UC-NRLF 


SB    273    E7S 


LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Cla&s 


REED    NOTES 


BY 

BLANCHE   M.  BURBANK 


XV 
(  V:,, 


SAN   FRANCISCO 

A.    M.    ROBERTSON 

1903 


COPYRIGHT,  1903 
BLANCHE  M.  BURBANK 


THE  MURDOCH  PRESS 


TO   MT  CHILDREN 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

NOTES II 

AN    EASTER   OFFERING 13 

IN    POPPY    FIELDS     . 14 

SINGING    IN    THE    RAIN 15 

MARCH 16 

TO     KEATS 17 

APRIL l8 

NATURE'S    MUSIC 20 

THE  COMING  OF  THE  MAY 22 

EAGLE  ROCK 23 

GOING  TO  THE  SUMMER  SCHOOL 24 

A    SIGH 26 

UNDER  THE  LEAVES 27 

IN    THE    CANYON 28 

PRESAGE 29 

TO  A  FRIEND 30 

MAGNOLIA 31 


CONTENTS 

OCTOBER 32 

AN  AUTUMN  ROSE 33 

THE   FIRST    SNOW 34 

INSPIRATION 35 

LANDLOCKED 35 

HOW  VAIN  is  LIFE! 36 

NOT  PEACE,  NOT  WAR 37 

A  YELLOW  BUTTERFLY 3§ 

LIFE'S  CROWN 39 

LITTLE   THINGS 4° 

TO  GRACE 41 

HEREAFTER 42 

TWO  VIEWS  OF  DEATH 43 

THE  DAISIES  OF  THE  FIELD 44 

RECLAMATION 45 

ROSES    AND   FERNS 46 

THE  MASTER  HAND 47 

AMBITION 48 

THE   ROSE   OF   YESTERDAY 49 

THE  TRUE  CONQUEROR 5° 

CONSTANCY     .                             51 


8 


CONTENTS 

TOO  YOUNG   TO   DIE 52 

LAYING    THE    CORNER-STONE 54 

ACHIEVEMENT 56 

SNOWFLAKES 57 

SLUMBER   SONG 58 

LOVE  IN  AGE 60 

DEEDS 6l 

MOTHER    NATURE  62 


REED    NOTES 

SWEETER  than  song  of  a  bird, 

Softer  than  murmuring  rain, 
Like  exquisite  melody  heard 

When  the  heart  is  overflowing  with  pain, 
In  a  forest  of  dreaming,  my  spirit  is  stirred 

By  the  Muse' s  ceolian  strain. 

And  when  in  a  rapture  I  wake, 
And  follow  on  blindly,  like  Pan, 

That  ravishing  music  o'er  mountain  and 

brake, 
Which  ever  the  fleetest  outran, 

Despairing,  I  seize  a  poor  reed  and  I  make 
Such  music,  for  love,  as  I  can. 


AN   EASTER  OFFERING 

A  LII,Y  watched  I  through  the  Lenten-tide, 
From  when  its  emerald  sheath  first  pierced  the  mold. 
I  saw  its  satin  blades  uncurl,  unfold, 
And  ever  upward  stretch  with  yearning  wide 
Toward  the  great  sky.    At  length,  the  leaves  beside, 
There  came  a  flower  beauteous  to  behold. 
Breathing  of  purest  joy  and  peace  untold, 
Its  radiance  filled  the  Easter  altar-side. 

And  in  my  heart  there  rose  a  sense  of  shame 
That  I,  alas,  no  precious  gift  had  brought 
Which  could  approach  the  splendor  of  this  thing, — 
I  who  so  long  had  borne  the  Master's  name ! 
Humbly  I  bowed,  while  meek  Repentance  wrought 
With  silent  tears  her  chastened  offering. 


IN   POPPY   FIELDS 

O  WONDERFUL  golden  treasure! 

O  wealth  of  the  sun  and  dew ! 
Where  Phoebus  drives  for  pleasure 

All  day  his  chariot  through; 

Where  the  lark  sings  ever  for  gladness, 
Between  the  blue  and  the  gold, 

Where  is  no  room  left  for  sadness, 
And  sorrow  finds  no  foothold. 

O  bird  mid  the  poppies  singing, 
Thy  wings  on  the  nest  afold, 

If  we  knew  but  how  to  be  bringing 
Golden  song  to  a  nest  of  gold ! 

O  lark  singing  high  in  the  heaven, 

O  lark,  if  we  only  knew 
That  sunshine  is  love's  best  leaven, 

Our  song  might  ring  pure  and  true! 


SINGING   IN   THE   RAIN 

IN  the  gray  of  April  morning 
Sang  the  bluebird  in  the  rain. 

Though  the  skies  were  dark  with  warning 
Poured  he  forth  a  merry  strain; 

Spite  of  all  the  stormy  weather, 

And  in  spite  of  dampened  feather, 
Gayly  singing  in  the  rain. 

From  a  joyous  heart  upwelling, 
Sang  the  minstrel  in  the  rain; 

Sang  he  to  the  young  buds  swelling 
On  the  lilac  bush  again, 

Sang  he  of  the  sunny  weather, 

Days  and  days  of  it  together, 
That  would  follow  after  rain. 

Brief  the  lay,  then  off  he  darted, 
But  the  song  was  not  in  vain; 

All  day  long  its  echoes  started, 
Thrilling  heart  and  soothing  brain, 

Till  in  spite  of  stormy  weather, 

Days  and  days  of  it  together, 
Sang  my  heart,  too,  in  the  rain ! 


MARCH 

roisterer  'neath  heaven's  tempestuous  arch ! 
Earth  hath  no  lover  half  so  fierce  as  thee. 
Yet,  if  thou  deem'st  that  such  wild  minstrelsy 
Of  weird  tunes  piped  through  plaintive  pine  and 

larch 
Can  win  her  smiles,  then  art  thou  mad,  O  March ! 

For  thou  hast  moods  as  soft  as  summer's  smile, 
And  gentle  airs,  and  warm  relenting  days 
With  which  to  woo  thy  Phyllis  'mid  green  ways ; 
A  wreath  of  violets  to  bestow  awhile, 
And  crocus  cups  of  nectar  to  beguile. 


16 


TO    KEATS 

O  KEATS  !   Thy  very  name  is  like  a  breath 
To  conjure  all  the  ecstasy  of  spring; 
The  opening  musk-rose,  birds  on  joyous  wing, 
And  violet  banks  where  young  Love  languisheth. 
Poet  of  Spring!    Thy  fancy's  shibboleth 
Unlocks  a  charm  not  May  alone  can  bring. 
Still,  still  thy  matchless  nightingale  doth  sing 
In  some  bright  empyrean  unswept  of  death! 

As  some  pale  watcher  of  the  midnight  skies 
Sees  one  by  one  the  glowing  stars  grow  dim, 
And  fade  from  sight  beneath  the  horizon's  marge ; 
So  Earth  beheld  thy  star  of  genius  rise, 
Take  its  brief  course,  then  like  a  planet  swim 
Forth  into  space,  illimitable,  large. 


APRIL 

O  SINGER  in  the  sunshine, 

O  warbler  'neath  the  eaves! 
What  is  it  in  the  springtime 

That  both  delights  and  grieves? 
One  moment  past  fair  April  smiled, 

Now  violet  eyes  are  wet. 
O,  tell  me  ere  my  heart 's  beguiled, 

If  she  's  a  sad  coquette ! 

O,  yonder  in  the  orchard 

Bird-song  and  budding  boughs, 
And  yonder  in  the  meadow 

Are  happy  hopes  that  house; 
And  never  once  the  music  stops 

In  sunshine  or  in  rain, 
That  liquid  song  like  balsam  drops 

Into  this  heart  of  pain. 


18 


APRIL 

O  singer  in  the  sunshine, 

O  warbler  'neath  the  eaves! 
My  heart 's  beset  with  hopes  and  fears 

This  springtime  weather  weaves. 
One  moment  past  my  fair  one  smiled, 

Now  violet  eyes  are  wet. 
O,  teach  me  since  my  heart 's  beguiled 

To  sing  too, — and  forget! 


NATURE'S   MUSIC 

HARKEN  to  the  elfin  music 

Of  the  merry  little  rills, 
With  a  tinkle  and  a  gurgle 

As  they  hurry  down  the  hills, 
Purling  over  mossy  pebbles, 

Forming  miniature  cascades, 
Dashing  over  rocky  ledges, 

Murmuring  softly  through  the  glades ; 
Theirs  is  a  happy  cadence 

That  no  mortal  tongue  can  learn, 
Though  the  waters  have  been  singing 

Since  the  world  began  to  turn. 

And  what  ear  can  catch  the  measure 

That  the  fairy  flowers  ring, 
As  the  south  wind  gently  sways  them 

To  the  dancing  feet  of  Spring? 


20 


NATURE'S  MUSIC 

Or  the  singing  of  the  forest 

When  the  minstrel  of  the  breeze 
Tunes  his  wizard  harp  seolian 

In  the  summits  of  the  trees: 
These  are  melodies  too  subtile 

To  affect  a  mortal  ear. 
Their  diviner,  finer  music 

Only  listening  hearts  may  hear. 


21 


THE   COMING   OF   THE   MAY 

HAVE  you  heard  the  bluebells  ringing 
When  the  gentle  South  goes  straying, 
Like  a  love-lorn  piper  playing 
Through  the  lonely  woodland  way? 
Have  you  heard  the  fairies  singing 
In  and  out  among  the  flowers 
As  they  work  between  the  showers 
On  a  fickle  April  day? 

How  they  fly,  those  nimble  fingers! 
All  the  cloudy  scenery  shifting, 
All  the  drooping  flowers  lifting, 
Brushing  every  tear  away; 
Till  within  the  wood  there  lingers 
Not  a  trace  of  April's  sadness, 
All  is  sunshine,  joy  and  gladness 
For  the  bonny  First  of  May. 


22 


\ 

X 


EAGLE   ROCK 


I  KNOW  a  charmed  valley  where  expands 
The  rose  in  bright  perennial  blossoming, 
Where  mockingbirds  melodious  magic  sing, 
And  orchards  lift  White  fragrant  happy  hands. 
And  in  the  midst  of  these  Arcadian  lands, 
As  poised  for  flight,  yet  vainly  lingering 
Against  its  will,  like  some  enchanted  thing 
Long  turned  to  stone,  a  huge  gray  eagle  stands. 

Perchance  old  Perseus  with  the  Gorgon's  head 

Surprised  this  bird  with  giant  wings  outspread, 

And  so  forever  by  these  western  seas 

A  prisoner  of  the  gods  no  more  he  roves, 

Guarding  new  treasures  of  Hesperides 

Hung  mid  the  verdurous  gloom  of  orange-groves. 


GOING   TO   THE   SUMMER   SCHOOL 

WHERE  the  tall  sweet  meadow-grass 
Mingles  with  the  snowy  daisies, 
And  the  flitting  swallows  pass 
Close  above  their  tangled  mazes; 
Through  the  shady  woodland  cool 
Where  the  early  pinxters  wake, 
Lay  the  path  I  used  to  take 
Going  to  the  summer  school. 

Up  the  hill  where  orchard  trees 
Stood  'neath  loaded  branches  groaning, 
Down  the  hollow  where  the  bees 
'Mid  the  berry  vines  went  droning; 
Past  the  lurking  tempting  pool 
Fringed  with  cattail,  rush,  and  brake, 
Led  the  path  I  used  to  take 
Going  to  the  summer  school. 

What  reluctant,  lagging  feet 
Dragged  I  to  my  daily  learning, 
Lured  to  chase  some  creature  fleet 
For  its  winged  freedom  yearning; 


24 


GOING  TO   THE   SUMMER  SCHOOL 

Oft  the  master's  birchen  rule 
Had  no  power  the  spell  to  break 
Of  the  winding  way  I'd  take 
Going  to  the  summer  school. 

How  I  envied  birds  and  bees 
And  the  squirrels  in  the  hedges, 
While  the  truant  summer  breeze 
Played  among  the  tuneful  sedges! 
To  the  plaintive  catbird's  mewl 
Mocking  answer  I  would  make, 
Vexed  that  I  must  needs  forsake 
Pleasure  for  the  pent-up  school. 

"  When  I  grow  to  be  a  man 

I  '11  consult  my  own  sweet  pleasure." 

Many  times  I  made  this  plan — 

Ah,  those  youthful  dreams  of  leisure! 

Father  Time,  whose  iron  rule 

Doth  no  laggard  steps  await, 

Teaches  us  or  soon  or  late 

Life  is  one  long  summer  school. 


A   SIGH 

O  FOR  the  olden  days, 

The  olden  days  and  golden, 

When  life  looked  out  on  the  flowery  ways 

That  lost  themselves  in  the  rainbow  haze 

Of  a  future  that  now  is  olden. 

O  to  inhale  again 

The  rapturous  breath  of  the  morning, 
When  young  Love  led  by  a  daisy  chain 
Our  willing  hearts  to  his  bright  domain; 
Then  fled  with  no  word  of  warning. 

Alas  that  the  flowers  of  spring 
Bloom  not  in  bleak  December; 
That  Time,  who  forever  is  on  the  wing, 
Robs  us  of  joy  but  leaves  the  sting, 
Which  is — that  we  remember! 


26 


UNDER   THE   LEAVES 

INTO  the  lap  of  the  bare  brown  earth, 
Stripped  of  her  beautiful  golden  sheaves, 

As  if  in  sympathy  for  her  dearth, 
Flutter  and  nestle  the  autumn  leaves. 

And  the  lonely  landscape  hides  away 

Her  face  deep-lined  with  sad  decay 
Under  the  leaves ! 

Down  from  the  tall  old  forest  trees, 

The  leafy  showers  gently  fall, 
And,  taking  the  wings  of  the  passing  breeze, 

Softly  they  cover  the  earth  like  a  pall. 
Ah,  would  that  we  the  past  might  fold 
Of  blighted  hopes  and  dreams  untold 
Under  the  leaves! 

Under  the  leaves  of  the  flying  years, 
O  strive,  thou  weary  soul,  to  lay 

The  care  and  sorrow,  the  bitter  tears, 
The  dreary  burden  of  yesterday; 

Away  deep  down  in  the  heart's  recess, 

Under  the  leaves  of  forgetfulness, 
Under  the  leaves! 


IN   THE   CANYON 

BRAVE  with  wild  asters,  clothed  in  chaparral, 
Beauteous  with  Autumn's  lavish  store, 
With  moss-hung  oak,  and  tasseled  sycamore, 
Gray  eucalyptus,  and  green  chamisal, 
The  canyon  flings  wide-open  doors  to  all. 
Her  walls  shut  out  old  Ocean's  ceaseless  roar, 
Shut  out  the  desolate  stretch  of  sandy  shore. 
I  enter,  and  all  worldly  burdens  fall. 

The  present  holds  me  in  its  dreamy  spell, 

The  past  no  longer  calls  me  like  the  sea. 

The  spirit  of  the  canyon  sets  me  free! 

Care's  voice  is  hushed,  no  rankling  memories  tell 

Of  future  tasks.    On  Time's  remotest  rim 

They  loom  like  distant  mountains  gray  and  dim. 


28 


PRESAGE 

SEPTEMBER  in  a  warning  mood 
Has  hung  a  signal  in  the  wood, — 
A  maple  branch  as  red  as  blood. 

Earth's  grief,  like  Rachel's,  soon  will  sound 
Through  naked  boughs,  a  wail  profound 
For  her  dead  children  of  the  ground. 


29 


TO   A   FRIEND 

WHEN  words  are  dumb,  and  music  fails  to  reach 
The  springs  whence  Nature's  deep  emotions  start, 

Then  comes  the  finer  gift  of  floral  speech, 
Which  ever  speaks  directly  to  the  heart. 

So  when  to-day  your  roses  came  to  me, 
With  friendly  message  and  a  sweet  surprise, 

Their  fragrant  whispers  stirred  the  memory 
And  bade  a  train  of  happy  musings  rise. 

Wherefore,  dear  friend,  I  thank  you  for  these  blooms 
Which  so  much  brightness  in  this  day  have  wrought 

With  brilliant  hues  and  delicate  perfumes ; 

But  more  I  thank  you  for  your  kindly  thought. 


MAGNOLIA 

THOU  hast  beauty's  peerless  form, 
Regal  grace,  and  stately  pose, 

But  thou  lackest,  dear,  the  warm, 
Tender  passion  of  the  rose. 

Lofty  in  thy  proud  disdain, 

Birds  and  bees  may  come  and  go; 

Love  finds  not  his  sweet  domain 
In  thy  gleaming  breast  of  snow. 

And  when  Hesperus  nightly  throws 
Twinkling  kisses  to  the  flowers, 

Calm  thy  bosom's  white  repose 
Through  the  lonely  star-lit  hours. 


OCTOBER 

How  sweet  to  wander  in  the  pleasant  breeze, 
Where  wild  grapes  purple  in  the  mellow  sun, 
And  ripened  nuts  drop  softly  one  by  one; 
While  from  the  sumac's  crimson  canopies 
The  wood-thrush  pipes  his  parting  melodies! 
Yet  through  the  brilliant  web  the  autumn  weaves 
Full  many  a  somber  thread  the  eye  perceives, 
And  her  bland  breath  is  full  of  prophecies. 

So  loved  October  dons  her  garments  gay, 
And,  veiling  her  sad  face  in  golden  haze, 
Dreams  to  divert  us  by  her  festive  guise; 
As  friends  departing  meet  our  mournful  gaze 
With  smiles,  and,  smiling,  sadly  turn  away, 
Lest  we  shall  read  the  anguish  in  their  eyes. 


AN   AUTUMN   ROSE 

SWEET  rose  of  the  autumn-tide,  faintly  she  blushes, 
Dreaming  of  summer  upon  her  lone  stem; 

As  faintly  the  rose-tint  the  cheek  of  age  flushes 
When  fond  recollection  rolls  up  some  bright  gem. 

Soft  hid  in  her  bosom  are  visions  of  Maytime, 
Deep  down  in  her  heart  lies  the  fragrance  of  June; 

In  memory  yet  there  are  echoes  of  playtime, 
Though  Nature  is  singing  her  lullaby  tune. 

Ah,  priceless  the  beauty  and  joy  of  the  morning, 
The  freshness  of  youth,  and  love's  tender  duress ; 

But  age  holds  a  jewel  of  rarer  adorning 
In  the  calm  of  the  spirit  that  lingers  to  bless. 


33 


THE   FIRST   SNOW 

WHEN  wintry  winds  have  stripped  the  garden  bare, 
And  fields  are  drear  and  skies  are  overcast; 
When  naught  remains  of  glory  that  is  past, 
Of  leaf  or  flower  that  made  the  summer  fair; 
And  Earth,  bereft  of  her  proud  affluence  rare, 
To  abject  poverty  is  brought  at  last, 
Garbed  all  in  tatters,  shivering  in  the  blast, 
Image  of  desolation  and  despair: 

Then  comes  that  gentle  almoner,  the  snow, 
And  folds  in  ermine  her  unsightliness. 
Dead  flower-stalks,  with  soft  corollas  crowned, 
Blossom  once  more  in  frigid  loveliness; 
While  the  still  pines  stand  mantled  in  a  row, 
Like  some  white  sisterhood  to  silence  bound. 


34 


INSPIRATION 

TRUTH  touched  me,  and  in  burning  words  I  sought 
To  write  her  message,  that  the  world  might  see, 

When  lo!  upon  my  page  an  alien  thought 
In  beauty  was  interpreted  to  me! 


LANDLOCKED 

HERE  all  is  turmoil;  breakers  beat  and  roar, 
The  shallows  fume  and  fret  for  evermore; 
While  far  out  on  the  deep  and  tranquil  sea 
Sail  happy  ships  to  ports  of  Destiny. 


35 


HOW  VAIN   IS   LIFE! 
(FROM  THE  FRENCH) 

How  vain  is  life! 

Love's  slender  spell, 
Hate's  futile  strife, 

And  then, — farewell. 

How  brief  is  life! 

Hope's  lessening  light 
With  dreams  is  rife, 

And  then, — good-night. 


NOT   PEACE,   NOT   WAR 

NOT  the  loud  din  and  battle-roar  which  call 
Mid  martial  music  to  the  clash  of  arms, 
Shall  free  Life's  warrior  from  those  still  alarms 
Which  sound  the  claims  of  conscience  unto  all; 
Nor  yet  shall  myriad  arts  of  peace  enthrall 
His  sense  secure,  nor  soft  inaction's  charms: 
E'en  sleep  hath  dreams  of  vague  impending  harms 
Whose  shadows  haunt  the  thoughtful  interval. 

Not  peace,  not  war,  but  the  subdued,  still  strife 
Of  hidden  conflict  'twixt  the  right  and  wrong; 
The  mastery  of  passion;  loving  deeds; — 
These  mark  the  achievements  of  the  inner  life. 
Who  conquers  self  may  rise  serene  and  strong 
O'er  warring  dogmas  and  the  wreck  of  creeds. 


37 


A   YELLOW   BUTTERFLY 

OUT  of  my  chrysalis  came  I 
Unknowing  as  this  butterfly, 
Into  a  world  to  live  and  die. 


Let  me  not  ask,  then,  why  nor  whence 
This  throbbing  interlude  of  sense 
Between  the  unfeeling  thence  and  hence 

Content  if  I  may  dart  one  ray 
Of  joy  athwart  a  dullsome  day, 
Ere  I  go  faring  on  my  way. 


LIFE'S   CROWN 

ALL  day  beside  the  vast  and  shining  sea 
Life  sat,  and  twined  a  wreath  of  varied  hue; 
Where  lilies  clasped  the  bitter,  bitter  rue, 
And  roses  cheek  to  cheek  lay  lovingly 
With  cypress  and  with  yew. 

And  all  day  long,  with  ceaseless,  tireless  breath, 
Came  voices  from  the  great  mysterious  deep, 
And  when  the  shadows  shoreward  did  creep 
Life,  binding  snow-white  poppies  in  her  wreath, 
So  softly  fell  asleep. 

Then  came  the  shining  ones  far  o'er  the  sea, 
And  on  her  forehead  laid  her  garland  low; 
But  as  they  bore  her  to  their  boat's  white  prow, 
Saw  they  sharp  thorns  that  pressing  cruelly, 
Drew  blood-drops  from  her  brow! 


39 


LITTLE   THINGS 

O  THE  wee  little  worries  and  commonplace  woes, 
Like  the  canker  that  eats  out  the  heart  of  the  rose, 
Or  the  water  that  wears  away  rock  as  it  flows, 
They  are  silently  bringing  our  lives  to  a  close. 

Not  the  battle-field  wounds,  but  the  tiny  bee-stings, 
The  word  spoken  sharply  that  rankles  and  clings. 
Not  the  large  things  of  life,  but  the  mean  little  things, 
Embitter  its  sweetness,  and  poison  its  springs. 


40 


TO    GRACE 

THINE  eyes  are  blue  as  summer  skies; 
On  thy  young  brow  no  shadow  lies 

As  yet  of  dull  and  cloudy  care. 
Life's  meadowlands  lie  cool  and  sweet 
And  fresh  beneath  thy  untried  feet, 

And  pleasures  bloom  like  flowers  fair. 

Ah,  may  no  woes  in  coming  years 
Thy  vision  dim  with  falling  tears! 

Meek  as  a  lowly  flower  bends 
Beneath  its  load  of  night-born  dew, 

So  bow  thy  heart  when  Heaven  sends 
Some  grief  to  prove  thy  spirit  true; 

And  Break  of  Day  shall  bring  to  thee 

Divinest  benedicite. 


HEREAFTER 

WHEN  thou  shalt  pass  that  borderland  unseen, 
Where  in  a  single  softly  outblown  breath 
Life  renders  its  last  hostage  unto  death, 
And  pays  the  penalty  for  having  been; 
When  thou,  my  soul,  'neath  other  skies  serene, 
Shalt  walk  'mid  full  fruition  of  thy  faith 
Where  joyously  the  spirit  reveleth 
In  the  celestial  beauty  of  the  scene: 

Will  memory  then,  with  grim  distorted  dream 
Of  this  sad  world  where  once  thou  toiled  and  wept, 
Pierce  thy  bright  bliss  like  some  sharp  arrow  sped? 
Or  when  thou  tastest  of  Oblivion's  stream, 
Wilt  wake,  and  never  know  that  thou  hast  slept? 
And  live,  and  never  dream  thou  once  wert  dead? 


42 


TWO   VIEWS   OF   DEATH 

GRIM  DEATH  and  I  met  vis-a-vis. 
So  near  he  came  I  felt  his  breath. 
He  bent  his  dreadful  gaze  on  me 
As  one  who,  faltering,  questioneth 
If  he  shall  smite  an  enemy. 

He  passed.    And  yet  may  come  a  day 
When,  weary  of  this  toilful  breath, 
My  soul  will  long  to  soar  away, 
And  I  shall  call  thee  friend,  O  Death, 
To  break  this  prison-house  of  clay! 


43 


THE   DAISIES   OF   THE   FIELD 

WE  love  to  scan  the  starry  skies, 
But  day  by  day,  unmindful,  pass 
The  meadow's  humble  traceries, 
The  constellations  of  the  grass: 

Nor  heed  the  gentle  lesson  taught 
As  meekly  patient,  year  by  year, 
They  come  without  our  care  or  thought, 
An  inspiration  sent  to  cheer. 


44 


RECLAMATION 

AMID  the  city's  busy  whirl  and  sweep, 
Men  haggle,  cheat,  and  strive  for  sordid  gold, 
And  all  that  life  holds  sweet  is  bought  and  sold, 
And  all  that  life  holds  dear  is  held  most  cheap. 
Here  the  blood  stagnates  and  the  pulses  creep; 
Tired  Nature  never  speaks  out  loud  and  bold, 
Nor  dares  her  better  impulses  unfold, 
Imprisoned  in  Convention's  guarded  keep. 

O  for  a  voice  from  out  the  wilderness 
Crying  repentance  on  this  narrow  life! 
Boundless  the  inspiration  of  the  hills 
The  wealth  of  poppied  fields  that  wait  to  bless; 
Priceless  the  calm  of  valleys  free  from  strife, 
The  joy  the  lowliest  blade  of  grass  instills. 


45 


ROSES   AND   FERNS 

THOU  queen  of  roses,  fragrant-breathed  La  France! 
Emblem  of  love  and  joy,  and  that  sweet  train 
Whose  soft  allurements  youthful  hearts  enchain, 
As  when  in  golden  heyday  of  Romance 
They  lent  to  Chivalry  a  charmed  lance. 
Sacred  to  thee  the  blush  and  bounding  vein, 
And  those  emotions  that  at  Beauty's  fane 
Enshrine  fair  tribute  with  thine  elegance. 

Alas,  like  Love,  thy  charms  too  quickly  fade, 
And  thy  pale  petals  feed  a  nameless  pain. 
So  from  thy  bright  enchantments  I  would  turn 
To  the  green  coolness  of  this  wilding  fern, 
Whose  dewy  fronds  recall  the  sylvan  glade, 
And  those  calm  joys  of  friendship  that  remain. 


46 


THE   MASTER   HAND 

MY  heart  is  a  lute 

Whereon  who  plays 

With  kindred  feeling  finds  responsive  strings. 

To  others  it  is  mute; 

While  only  one  can  wake  its  sweetest  lays, 

Or  tune  to  sadness  every  song  it  sings. 


47 


AMBITION 

ENCHANTRESS,  ever  powerful,  as  when, 
Enthroned  upon  thine  ancient  mountain  height, 
In  mystery  impenetrably  bright 
Thy  voice  first  fell  upon  the  ears  of  men, 
To  lure  them  to  thy  solitary  flight! 
Thy  steeps  to  scale  when  lofty  souls  aspire, 
In  their  mad  chase  each  struggling  to  be  first, 
Thou  still  demandest :    "  Higher,  ever  higher !  " 
Till  trampling  others  in  the  race  accurst, 
And  pressing  on,  thy  victims  grow  purblind 
And  deaf  to  all  save  one  intense  desire. 
Love,  virtue,  honor, — all  are  left  behind: 
Yet  what,  dread  Circe,  is  thy  recompense, 
Since  none  survives  thy  treacherous  eminence? 


THE   ROSE   OF   YESTERDAY 

Each  Morn  a  thousand  Roses  brings,  you  say  ; 
Yes,  but  where  leaves  the  Rose  of  Yesterday  f 

—OMAR  KHAYYAM. 

ADOWN  the  current  of  Time's  stream, 
So  swifltly  flowing  on  its  way, 

As  softly,  lightly  as  a  dream 
There  floats  the  Rose  of  Yesterday. 

Had  we  a  joy  that  we  would  clasp? 

Alas,  upon  that  foaming  spray 
We  see  it  borne  beyond  our  grasp 

To  be  the  bride  of  Yesterday. 

O  Rose  of  Life!  so  passing  sweet, 
To  clasp  thee  one  bright  fleeting  day, 

And  feel  Love's  high  exultant  beat, 
Thy  mystic  price  who  would  not  pay? 

O  Yesterday!  so  rich  in  fee 

Of  all  we  loved,  we  would  not  stay 

Thy  rushing  torrent,  knowing  we 
Shall  soon  be  with  thee,  Yesterday! 


49 


THE   TRUE   CONQUEROR 

BEHOLD  the  victor  faring  from  the  fray 
With  haughty  brow  and  mien,  while  from  afar 
Rises  like  incense  to  the  gods  of  war 
The  smoke  of  ruined  cities  brought  to  bay. 
Behold  the  fool  who  spends  the  little  day 
We  call  his  life,  seeking  to  fix  his  star 
In  the  ascendant,  striving  to  kill  and  mar, 
And  play  the  Caesar  in  his  puny  way. 

O,  not  to  such  the  waiting  world  looks  now ! 
She  would  forget  the  bloodshed  and  the  tears; 
Weary  of  war,  she  prays  that  carnage  cease. 
Who  will  arise  to  lead  her  brighter  years, 
The  seal  of  brotherhood  upon  his  brow, 
And  in  his  hand  the  olive  branch  of  peace? 


CONSTANCY 

LOVE  dreamed  our  paths  through  life  together  lay. 
Stern  Fate  the  dream  dispelled,  and  'neath  her  sway 
We  sadly  parted,  and  each  one  the  way 

Alone  pursued. 

Yet,  though  my  feet  have  wandered  from  thee  wide, 
My  swift-winged  thoughts  are  ever  at  thy  side, 
Fond  guardian  spirits  who  thy  steps  would  guide 

Unto  all  good. 

And  if  sometime,  somewhere,  in  that  pure  sphere 
Where  sorrow  is  unknown,  nor  parting  tear 
Nor  shade  of  separation  doth  appear, 

Thy  soul  seek  mine; 
If  in  thy  gentle  spirit  eyes  I  trace 
A  changeless  love  Death's  power  could  not  efface, 
My  hand  in  thy  dear  hand  I  '11  gladly  place, 

Forever  thine! 


TOO   YOUNG  TO   DIE 

"  Too  young  to  die !  "  we  sometimes  say 
Of  one  who  falls  asleep  before 

The  heat  and  burden  of  the  day 
Have  proved  the  unequal  load  he  bore. 

"  Too  young  to  die ! "  and,  grieving,  we, 
Rebellious-hearted,  blind  of  eye, 

Know  not  the  future,  can  not  see 
The  veiled  lightning  cleave  its  sky. 

Too  young  to  die!   Ah,  may  not  death 
The  waking  be  to  larger  life, 

Whose  deeper  meaning,  freer  breath 
With  opportunity  is  rife? 

Too  young  to  die!    Perchance  in  truth 
God  counts  not  time,  and  if  it  be 

The  cycles  of  eternity 

Know  neither  hoary  age  nor  youth; 


TOO   YOUNG  TO   DIE 

What  matters  it  what  length  of  years 
That  each  in  his  allotted  place 

With  equal  share  of  smiles  and  tears 
Must  measure  for  a  little  space? 

What  seems  in  vain  was  wisely  planned, 
And  He  who  marks  the  sparrow's  fall, 

Dear  Heart,  doth  hold  us  one  and  all 
Safe  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand. 


53 


LAYING   THE   CORNER-STONE 

Written  for  the  laying  of  the  corner 
stone  of  the  Y.  W.  C.  A.'s  building, 
Oakland,  California,  1892. 

As  the  painter's  dream  is  wrought, 
As  the  sculptor's  darling  thought 

Slowly  shapens  into  stone; 
So  the  end  that  we  have  sought 
With  a  cherished  purpose  fraught 

Real  and  tangible  has  grown. 

And  to-day  with  gladdened  eyes 
See  we  these  foundations  rise, 

As  with  prayerful  hearts  we  own 
God  must  bless  our  enterprise, 
Else,  though  it  should  touch  the  skies, 

We  were  wretched  and  undone. 

While  we  build  against  the  years, 
Mingling  with  our  hopes  our  fears, 
Build  we  not  for  time  alone. 


54 


LAYING  THE  CORNER-STONE 

Woman's  faith  through  woman's  tears 
Is  the  fabric  that  uprears 
High  above  the  corner-stone. 

And  the  thoughtful  eye  may  scan 
Through  the  finite  builder's  plan, 

Dealing  only  with  the  known, 
Love  and  hope  and  faith  in  man — 
Bonds  invisible  that  span 

Arching  o'er  our  corner-stone. 

Not  in  weeks  or  months  or  days 
Spring  the  green  rewarding  bays, 

And  when  centuries  have  flown 
Still  shall  life's  outgoing  ways 
Sing  in  notes  of  blame  or  praise 

How  we  laid  this  corner-stone. 

Humbly,  then,  with  hymn  and  prayer 
We  invoke  God's  loving  care 

On  the  seed  that  we  have  sown. 
Thou  who  numberest  every  hair, 
Still  our  feeble  hands  upbear, — 

O  be  Thou  our  corner-stone! 


55 


ACHIEVEMENT 

LITTLE  the  good  that  I  have  wrought 

In  this  brief  life,  and  still 
He  who  can  read  my  inmost  thought, 

He  who  doth  know  the  will, 
Alone  may  judge  how  I  have  sought 

Some  goodness  to  fulfill. 


SNOWFLAKES 

LOVE,  when  you  and  I  were  strolling 

In  the  orchard  long  ago, 
Apple-blossoms,  softly  falling, 

Seemed  like  flakes  of  fragrant  snow. 

Now  around  us  draws  life's  winter, 
But  the  Fates  are  not  unkind, 

For  somehow  the  falling  snowflakes 
Bring  those  apple-blooms  to  mind. 


57 


SLUMBER   SONG 

SWEET  and  low 

The  cool  winds  blow, 
The  sun  sinks  slowly  in  the  west, 

And  lowing  herds 

And  drowsy  birds 
Proclaim  the  time  of  grateful  rest. 

Cool  and  low 

The   night  winds   blow, — 
Come  launch  the  baby's  slumber  boat! 

Set  the  white  sails 

To  catch  the  gales, 
And  let  him  into  dreamland  float. 

To  and  fro 

Now  rock  and  row, 
As  past  the  sandman's  isle  we  glide. 

The  fine  sand  flies 

In  baby's  eyes 
Till  he  can  scarcely  ope  them  wide. 


SLUMBER   SONG 

So  near  at  hand 

Is  that  fair  land 
Whose  poppy-laden  breezes  steep, 

In  soft  repose 

His  eyelids  close, — 
My  babe  has  reached  the  realms  of  Sleep ! 


59 


LOVE  IN   AGE 

CLOSE  as  some  wind-blown  vine  in  winter  clings 
To  sturdy  trunk  unbending  in  the  blast; 

Even  so  my  steadfast  love  its  tendrils  flings 
Around  thy  firmer  nature,  and  holds  fast. 

And  whether  wind  blows  soft  or  tempests  rage, 
And  whether  skies  are  fair  or  dark  above, 

What  matters  it,  since  all  the  frosts  of  age 

Have  left  untouched,  unscathed  our  early  love? 

Firm  knit  in  heart  and  life,  we  calmly  wait 

Heaven's  harbingers  of  spring ;  and  in  our  dreams 

Come  genial  airs  that  waft  us  near  the  Gate, 
And  thrill  our  spirits  with  resplendent  gleams. 


60 


DEEDS 

NOT  what  we  wish,  but  what  we  accomplish; 

Not  what  we  dream,  but  what  we  do; 
Deeds  are  the  golden  rungs  of  the  ladder 

By  which  we  climb  to  the  ultimate  true. 


61 


MOTHER  NATURE 

DEAR  Mother,  like  a  tired  child,  some  day, 
Worn  out  with  all  this  worldly  greed  and  pride; 
With  hopes  and  aims  like  playthings  tossed  aside, 
As  one  too  weary  or  too  weak  to  pray, 
I  '11  lay  my  head  upon  thy  heart  and  say : — 
"  The  way  was  winding  that  my  feet  have  tried ; 
I  've  wandered  far,  but  now,  whate'er  betide, 
From  thee  I  never  more  shall  turn  away." 

Then  shall  I  feel  thine  arms  about  me  twine 
In  the  soft  tendrils  of  some  creeping  vine, 
And  thou  wilt  fold  me  in  the  evening  hours 
To  sleep  upon  thy  lap  amid  the  flowers 
All  dreamless,  and,  to  mark  my  place  of  rest, 
Perchance  one  violet  more  upon  thy  breast. 


UNIVERSITY    OF    CALIFORNIA 
LIBRARY 


Due  two  weeks  after  date. 


30m-7,'12 


. 


YB~  1209- 


